|
I'll let you in on a secret: if you really want to get under my skin, there's more than one way to go about it. For example, you could try complimenting me on the exhibition, then going on to ask me whether I was the artist. Fortunately I understand that it would be unfair to blame people for not being completely au fait with the industry. In fact, nothing would please me more than to see unsuspecting consumers explore new horizons, irrespective of whether their ventures will turn out to my advantage. It really doesn't matter whether this comes across as counterproductive to me personally as my interests should always take a back seat to the alternative of educating the masses, even though I may not always be instantly aware of it. Another way of annoying me is to mistake artistic antagonists for sources of inspiration, although to be fair this would enable me to blow off steam, which as such can be quite therapeutic. And yet another way of trespassing on my province would be for you to whistle along with the music, for I'll instantly notice how off-key you are, and although I'm no better than you, you would thus be driving the point home. But there are wonderful moments too. A lady once asked me adoringly whether I was the artist, and just as I was preparing to give her a friendly reply, a naughty sparkle came into her eye and she chirped, as if she had caught me red-handed, "Or do you have a chap come in to do it for you?". The best moment ever occurred earlier today, when a visitor who was about to leave the gallery said, "An exhibition like this somehow makes life worth living." In much the same way as the beauty of music can be comforting, acceptance of our inevitably humble and enigmatic fate tends to coast along with the sense of breathtaking beauty. And for those who don't quite follow, at that moment I was completely oblivious to my commercial interests. |
BACK